Ikiru
by Lady Cheshire
Summary: Here is a warrior. . . S.E.E.S., Elizabeth, Souji, and a lot of verbs.


_This is a one shot, and is P3 centric although Souji does get the ending line. Lucky Mr. P4, eh? Please give feedback if you so wish. :)_

* * *

_10/4/2009_

Here is a warrior; reminiscing.

He tips over, a wry smile on his face and we can see the memories of watching empty neon skies, brothers, and horses. He's unorganized, unkempt, wild, but steadfast in his idiosyncrasies. A warrior such as this has no time for thinking of things he could have done with time, but merely grins at the stupid memories he has and feels annoyance and appreciation for the tears his fellow warriors are shedding. Here is a warrior; tying up and finishing.

* * *

_12/2/2009_

Here is a warrior; running.

If she is swift, (and she is), she will live. If she is slow then the result is still the same, except she will be damaged and many will die.

(This is her opponent, dreading each running step she takes toward him. Watch as he passively waits for her to strike, forgetting the false human instincts to be quick; to be agile, to _be_. Anything he does will be second intention, reaction, demonstration of his power and his predestined talent to crush her without even batting an eyelash).

Though quite quick, she is crippled by that redeeming human quality bestowed upon her by her personality; fear. Here is a warrior; brought to her knees by the immovable shadow of death.

* * *

_5/17/2017_

Here is a warrior; digging.

High on a hill underneath a lonely and withered tree, the warrior wields a spade and gently carves into the earth. The warrior drops her weapon and picks a packet of seedlings beside her. She clasps her hands together and murmurs a little prayer for the fallen and leaves a Christmas Star buried in the earth, hoping to see its revitalized return to the surface next month. The special plant will bloom beside fourteen other various species and genera (one for both of them each year for the past seven years). Here is a warrior; creating life where there is none.

* * *

_8/31/2020_

Here is a warrior; singing.

The expanse of blue desert looms before her like a barren screen constantly shifting and acting like a azure sieve to particulate life. She is alone? Yes. Without a doubt, alone and murmuring a tune she can't recall the words to; only the melody. The warrior has forgotten. She bites her tongue and grimaces, a note dying on her palate. Her soft and petite hands grip the railing until blood is wrung from her palms. Salt water mingles with salt water. Soon, she forgets the melody and lets herself be taken away by the rocking of a hollow boat and the shell of a smile. Here is a warrior; breaking under the fear of forgetting.

* * *

_10/4/2019_

Here is a warrior; kneeling.

He is bowed in reverence; a humble warrior. His knees are stained green from the summer grass and the smell of flowers and honey waft past his nostrils. The warrior traces his fingers along the characters etched in marble, overlooking their empty meaning and purifying the words with a tear or two. He's a young man, smart, handsome, and popular. There is a mother shaped hole cut out of him though, and while people politely look away and pretend not to stare, it is there for all to see. Beside that hole is another hole, but it's less noticeable and doesn't have a name easily recognized. Here is a warrior; mouthing the etching on marble without speaking, without thinking; _Aragaki Shinjiro_

* * *

_2/22/2016_

Here is a warrior; sighing.

Another rabbit has escaped him, but he's not unhappy. Rather, he's too busy chasing something else shortly after his loss of the rabbit, a fox, perhaps. The warrior doesn't want blood (something smells good, tasty), but wants to play. A girl's voice calls to him and the warrior leaves the world of smells and rabbits and wakes to the black and white image of Softy-chan stroking his fur. Outside, he notices the snow is falling. She welcomes him back, apologizes for waking him, and gets up. The warrior's arthritic bones slowly stack on top of another as he follows her to the kitchen where she has prepared a meal (her cooking has improved so much over the years). Here is a warrior; living in paradise.

* * *

_5/17/2025_

Here is a warrior; counting.

_One two three one two three_. Period. _My name is Sanada Akihiko, I'm a Captain with the Yuzawa Prefectural Police. _Period. _One two three._ The warrior has been wounded, doing battle with a powerful monster. He has slain the monster and is limping victoriously back to the citadel. His pride and life are intact but the warrior's body is losing blood ounce by ounce. The warrior is leaving a path of blood as he shuffles through the alleyways, but it's _one two three_. He growls as he tries to find his way home to lick his wounds and count his blessings, and he's counting the fights he's lost. _None, none, none_. Here is a warrior; his losing battles won.

* * *

_4/4/2010_

Here is a warrior; howling.

Long has it been since she's stepped away from the box of encapsulated time and space. Instead of going up up up; she is moving forward on a flat surface. A book is pressed against her chest and her gloved hands are warm. At once she knows nothing and everything and it's exhilarating. She feels inextricably bound to a fate not of her choosing and hardly of her understanding. This warrior looks up at the moon and smiles a soft, devious smile as tears bite and sting her wide curious eyes. It's the first time this warrior has felt pain and for some reason, she can't bring herself to hate him for it. Here is a warrior; clawing her way and biding her time.

* * *

_7/5/1999_

Here is a warrior; pulling.

The trigger. She blinks and wonders where the glass came from. She looks up at the expectant and encouraging leer of her grandfather. Here is a warrior; being born. Deep inside, she feels a pinch and an echo of a false identity rising. Here is a girl; looking at every hope and possibility she's dreamed of as they are strangled by inherited apparitions of the past.

* * *

_11/12/2015_

Here is a warrior; grinding.

It's a wonder his teeth aren't worn down to dust. It's not an unfamiliar dream. Rather, it's a brutal memory that snaps its jaws and greedily salivates over his memory in an attempt to snap the line between reality and illusion in two. When he wakes he can't help but weep as he holds her close to his chest and kisses her forehead thanking God or "who the hell ever" for giving her the twisted power of life. Here is a girl; murmuring sleepily and stroking the warriors hand;

* * *

_1/26/2010_

Here is a warrior; scratching.

As if running his fingers against his scalp will help the decision-making process. He's torn between the little girl bobbing at his knees ("Takoyaki! Takoyaki!") and the upset rumbling shaking his stomach. Apparently, even the bravest of warriors are prone to indigestion. He is giving up, though, and is ordering two servings for himself and his young friend. Here is a warrior; unafraid of the unknown.

* * *

_Unknown Time_

Here is a butterfly; departing.

Its life is short, and the next time it lands on a tree limb it will flutter to the ground, its tiny heart in the last throes of life. It pushes its wings up and down up and down with ease and leaves behind a web of life. Whether or not the butterfly created the web or the web created the butterfly, goes unanswered. Here is a life;

* * *

_4/11/2011_

Here is a boy; watching.

The outside trees blur by his unfocused eyes and he has to look away. He wonders what his parents are doing right now, if they are waiting in a crowded station or if they've departed, if they're thinking of him, if they're well. He looks back to the window and sees rain-heavy clouds. The boy begins to drift off when the PA calls out Yasoinaba to his empty car.


End file.
